Some things
by A2MOM
Summary: Dark, Cain POV, very little dialogue til the end. Some things, the fighters can only get from each other. Cain/Deimos, Cain/Encke, implied Cain/Abel/Deimos. Hamletmachine has created these beautiful characters, and is kind enough to let people like me write stories about them.


Some Things

There are some things, they can only get from each other.

After Abel has fallen asleep in his arms, the tear tracks on his innocent face long dried and the lines of stress on his brow relaxed, Cain rises, dresses quietly, and leaves. It's late, well past 01:00 hours, and he has combat training at 06:00 but it scarcely matters. There's no way he'll be able to fall asleep tonight, anyway.

The ship's corridors are largely deserted at this hour and his expression, he thinks bleakly, must be unapproachable enough. No one stops to engage him in conversation or ask where he's going. Anyone who was out on patrol today already knows.

He takes the lift down, to the fighter's base level, closing his eyes against the images that burst across his shuttered eyes. Starfighter's blooming like silent, grotesque flowers against the cold tundra of space, shards of titanium and human limbs floating away like dead petals falling, falling...Satellites now forever, just so much more space garbage and Cain shakes himself, sickened for a fleeting moment. Maybe he'll be the one that doesn't come back tomorrow. Maybe nobody will care.

Then the lift stops, the doors in his mind slamming shut as the doors before him hiss quietly open. Cain walks out, towards a few hours of oblivion that await him at the end of the hall.

The communal shower in the fighter's barracks serves only one purpose. It's a place without rank, or identities; without rivalries or judgment. It's a place without mercy, too.

Cain makes his way first to the changing room; a foul, reeking dungeon that even maintenance won't enter to clean. There are scattered cigarette butts under the benches and half-used packets of lube strewn heedlessly about, and sticky, unnamed body fluids all over the floor .Cain's seen; hell_, lived_ in worse. He strips and stuffs his off duty uniform into an empty locker, and pads, barefoot across the filthy floor, towards the steam.

Pausing at the entrance, Cain's eyes narrow as he ponders his choice. There are several groups of fighters already engaged in various sexual acts within the shower room itself. The sounds of moaning and the obscene slap of flesh on flesh entice him in to play. Beyond that is the sauna, and further on, a massage room whose table has been replaced by a pleasure swing. Cain went there only once; there are no safe words honored, and very little pleasure for the one splayed for the taking in the swing.

Tonight he chooses the shower room. The steam is thick here, providing a ghostly measure of anonymity as the shadows around him thrust and groan. At the far corner of the room is an unoccupied shower head, and Cain makes his way quietly towards it. He closes his eyes and tips his face up towards the pounding spray, letting it stream over his face and flatten his spiky black hair. And then he waits.

It never takes long. Within minutes, a pair of hands rest on either side of his naked hips, thick fingers spread out dark against his olive skin. His heartbeat quickens in a mix of fear and anticipation, and he takes a breath, forcing himself to submit. Slowly, he raises his sinewy arms and places his palms, flat, against the tiles, spreading his legs slightly apart. With a subtle press of his ass into the other's already hardening cock, he makes his intentions clear. This is what he's come here for tonight. It doesn't matter who he gets it from.

The body behind his is tall, heavier and broader than he is, the arms that encircle him tightly bulging with muscle. He lets his mind drift as sure hands reach for a squirt of soap from one of the many wall dispensers. There isn't a part of him the fighter doesn't touch, large, slippery hands sliding erotically over Cain from head to toe. His lips part on a moan and he lets his head tip back, resting against a hard chest as the cries of pleasure around him add to his building arousal. The fighter leans in to kiss him, but Cain turns away before their mouths can meet.

It's a small thing, and the other man merely presses his mouth to Cain's wet throat instead. This is the one thing Cain will not share, not with anyone but Abel.

That hard, hot cock rubs restlessly against his ass, his silent lover becoming impatient and Cain trembles as insistent hands press against his back, bending him forward. There are bottles of lube everywhere, thrown against the edges of the walls and the fighter scoops one up, clicks open the cap, and then Cain is gasping as two slicked fingers roughly penetrate him. His toes curl as those fingers reach, all the way to the end of the road, and stroke his g-spot back and forth. He has to clench his jaw to keep from begging and then the fingers pull free and a blunt, slicked cock tip is pressing into him.

He's lucky to have gotten this much foreplay but it's been a long time since he's bottomed, and it hurts. This is something he can't get from Abel, this callous disregard for his pain or pleasure but tonight, it's exactly what he needs. Each ruthless thrust sends him into brutal ecstasy and every cry for mercy he makes incites the man behind him to fuck him harder, faster. His own cock is screaming for attention but if he frees a hand to stroke himself, he knows he'll end up head first into the wall. The man fucking him is long past caring if he gets off or not anyway, so Cain grits his teeth and simply endures. He'll jerk himself off after his body is done being used.

Just when he thinks he can't take it anymore, they are joined by another fighter who kneels at Cain's feet. Cain feels a blissful, warm mouth swallow the head of his cock and within seconds he is climaxing with a shout. Fingers dig painfully into his hips, his ass, and with a grunt the man who's fucking him come , hunched over his back and groaning in relief. They remain locked together for several, dizzy moments until reality returns, and Cain pushes the heavy body off him with a shaky hand. Without a word, the man pulls out of him abruptly, leaving Cain alone again.

Or so he thinks. Panting, Cain looks down, annoyed to find his savior still kneeling at his feet. Clear, grey eyes look back up at him, water streaming likes tears over a delicately beautiful face. Deimos waits, frightened, obedient, for eye contact is taboo here but when it concerns Cain, he's never followed the rules. And suddenly Cain doesn't want to either, hauling Deimos clumsily to his feet and pressing their bodies flush together. For a fleeting second he thinks, I'm sorry, Abel, and then they kiss.

Their tongues meet like two old friends, and when Cain brings his hand up to cup the back of his head, holding him in place to kiss him deeper, Deimos sags against him with relief. Cain tastes himself in Deimos mouth, groaning with a fierce surge of possession as Deimos wraps his arms around him, clinging like he'll never let go. One of Cain's hands slides down the slim curve of Deimos back, to the swell of his ass and he presses their groins together, bruisingly hard. The sweet whimper that Deimos makes is loud in Cain's ears, louder than the pounding spray, or the cries of pleasure and pain all around them.

"Myshonok," he growls against Deimos' ear, as he tips his head back, keening, so that Cain can mouth sucking kisses all over his throat. "Mine, mine..."

"Always," Deimos whispers, shaking with need, his own erection hot but ignored in the face of whatever Cain is willing to give him. "I-" he pants, in their native tongue, "I lo-"

Cain cuts him off with another melting kiss, his hands touching everywhere at once and then he's the one kneeling, taking the beautiful, hard cock in his mouth and caressing it with his tongue. Deimos sobs, knees buckling and when he grabs Cain's head in warning Cain wraps his arms around his thighs, burying Deimos' cock deeper in his throat. Deimos explodes with a shout of anguish and relief and Cain swallows the thick, hot mouthful in bliss. Always, his mind chants. Mine, mine.

In the changing rooms it's quiet again, the handful of fighters dressing moving about slowly with stated exhaustion. In his peripheral vision Cain can see Encke seated on one of the benches, eyes staring at nothing as he rests for a moment, boot in his hand. He looks older than his years, and defeated, like the brutal fucking he'd just given Cain wasn't nearly enough to purge the frustrated rage within his soul.

This, they can only try to give each other. They can't share this with their navigators; they are too easily broken, and too difficult to repair.

Cain turns away, stiffly pulling on his shirt, wondering if there will be purple fingerprints on his hips for Abel to discretely ignore. When he turns back, Encke is gone. Probably going back to his bed and the warmth of a slim, pale body that will curl around his with undeserved forgiveness. Cain closes the door to the locker with a dull thud, and then the only things in the filthy little room are himself, the ugly, grey walls, and Deimos, standing nervously beside him.

A fleeting look passes between them and then Deimos blushes and looks sadly away. Cain sighs, slinging an arm around his shoulders, tugging him close.

"Come on, Myshonok," he says tiredly. "Walk back with me."

They don't say any more than that, not on the lift or as they walk down the corridor towards Cain and Abel's room. There's no point in rehashing the horrors of today's battle. Another will be waiting for them tomorrow, after all. Cain feels drained, and empty, the euphoria of sex cruelly withdrawn. Maybe he'll be exhausted enough to sleep, at least, and not to dream.

Abel blinks, when the door hisses open, rolling over to stare sleepily at both of them.

"Where'd you go?" he yawns, stretching in the warm nest of blankets.

"Nowhere, Princess," Cain whispers, "go back to sleep."

Cain turns but Deimos has already withdrawn, making it easier for him again.

" 'Bye," Deimos says softly, with a lonely shrug.

Cain stands there, between the two of them, wanting them both and deserving neither. Some things, it's not in his capacity to give, or his privilege to receive.

"Hey," Abel murmurs, "come lay down." It's simple, uncomplicated, and to Cain's surprise, he's looking at both of them.

Deimos bites his lip and eyes the narrow mattresses. Slowly, he shakes his head. "There isn't enough room," he says quietly. Cain knows he's talking about more than just the physical space.

Abel scoots into the center of the cramped bed, where the uneven edges of the bed are the most uncomfortable. "Now there is," he says sleepily.

Cain is too tired to argue, so he motions Deimos into the room and they once again undress. He lets Abel arrange them; Deimos curled shyly against Abel's back and Cain lying on his side facing them both. It's warm and too snug to move and when Abel gropes for Deimos' hand, drawing his arm around him so that their fingers twine together, Cain covers both of their hands with his own. Deimos relaxes with a sigh, long eyelashes fanned against his cheeks, as he falls into an untroubled sleep at last.

Abel's drapes a leg over Cain's thigh, sharing his warmth with quiet acceptance, and falls back asleep with Cain's face pressed against his hair. Not so innocent, Cain realizes, with something close to wonder. Not broken beyond repair. None of them are tonight, thanks to him.

Closing his eyes to blessedly empty darkness, Cain lays his arm across Abel's shoulders to thread his fingers through Deimos'hair, and joins both of them in deep, dreamless sleep.


End file.
